“I see--feeling the pulse of the market as it were. Pardon me, every ring at the bell attracts my attention. I must keep an eye on the door. The colored footman opens it. Eureka! a messenger boy with a note. He refuses to deliver it over. Wise chap--long head! Such important matters ought only be given to those they’re meant for. My telegram has arrived. Now we’ll know what’s what, and be able to wind matters up. Ah, there! my colored friend, lead him this way, that’s right. Here I am. Colonel Robert Rocket of Colorado,” and with a broad smile of pleasure, and an eagerness he cannot disguise, the Western sheriff holds out his hand for the message. CHAPTER XIX. THE FALL OF THE MIGHTY OAK. The small uniformed myrmidon of the telegraph company stands in front of the big Western sheriff, and holds the message behind his back. “Who are you?” he asks immediately. “The one you’re looking for, I reckon--Colonel Robert Rocket.” “Say, kin you read, boss?” demands the boy, a sharp-faced chap. “Well, yes, a little,” returns the other, frowning, for he is impatient to receive his own. “Then just cast your eyes on that 'ere enwelope, from a distance like, an’ tell me if you kin make Bob Rocket or Davy Crockett or any other firework show out o’ it.” Plainly he reads the name of Samson Cereal, and the address below. “The devil! I made a mistake. Boy, follow the nigger. It aint for me--_yet!_” And the sheriff falls back out of the way, a little ruffled, but still on deck. Aleck has heard it all. He knows that while relieved from one source of anxiety, another has shown its head. What reception will the great speculator give this message? True, he must often receive telegrams on many important subjects, but a man of his firmness would not show this intense anxiety over a matter unless it was of the utmost moment. Naturally, therefore, Aleck, being decidedly interested, moves in the direction of the big operator. By this time Samson Cereal has caught sight of the colored door-keeper leading the sagacious messenger boy to his quarter. The latter takes it all as a matter of course. There can be seen no trace of amazement on his face, though the decoration of the rooms is superb, and the toilets of the ladies charming. One of these imps would strut through the palace of a Czar with the indifference of a princeling to the manner born. Now he addresses the lord of the manor, and puts to him questions regarding his identity that soon establish the fact. “Put her on that 'ere line--an’ the time.” Cereal hastily signs his name. He realizes that a number of people are watching him curiously, and with a great effort maintains his self possession. His wonderful nerve serves him well in such an emergency as this. As if the matter is of little importance he thrusts the message unopened into his pocket and goes on chatting with the gentleman at his side.